


Greedy

by MoriartyMastermind



Series: Kleptomania [1]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: ??? though not really, M/M, Morally Gray Barry Allen, Pre-Slash, Role Reversal, btw Nora is there but like for three seconds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-11 12:25:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13524210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoriartyMastermind/pseuds/MoriartyMastermind
Summary: Barry Allen. The pinnacle of good, the light at the end of the tunnel, theFlash... has sticky fingers.





	Greedy

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so I'm making this it's own story, because I have no idea how long it will take for me to write another chapter. This can be read alone. However, this is a series. I will add to it in due time.

It was the start of a problem since he was very young, before his mother died.

Barry was the little kid who stole the markers from the library, and took a book from the scholastic fair without paying. It never passed his thoughts that it was bad thing to do…It seemed natural, like something he _should_ be doing. An instinct that pulled at his gut like hunger. He would see a pretty pen and thought ‘I like that’ and he’d put it in his shirt pocket. Or maybe he’d take an extra pack of pudding from the school cafeteria without asking.

It didn’t even really occur to him in elementary school that every item he took probably had an owner.

“Ms. Allen…”

“Mrs. Allen.”

“ _Mrs_. Allen,” the school principal Mr. Johnson took a deep sigh and gave a long-suffering look to Barry. “We found a little trove of books, pens, and crayons _all_ that aren’t your son’s in his school desk. He’s not been returning books, stealing from the library, and other children. He’s a thief.” 

Barry remained silent. All that stuff he took because he _liked_ it, nobody else was using it, so couldn’t he just…Take it? He frowned. He knew he took a pack of crayons from Tommy, but Tommy never used them and was _always_ talking about how rich he was. He didn’t think Tommy would mind.

“My son is six-years-old…I don’t think first graders can really be classified as thieves, Mr. Johnson. Barry…” Mom looked at him. He didn’t like the way his Mom looked right now, she seemed sad. “Barry why did you take those things?”

“Cuz I wanted them, Mama,” It was a simple answer.

“Barry it’s _wrong_ to take things that aren’t yours.”

“I didn’t know they were anybody else’s,” Well, he knew that they were Tommy’s crayons but that didn’t count.

“I understand he’s young,” Johnson explained. “He’s also very sweet to the teachers and hasn’t had any problems before…but young man,” He looked at Barry. “You have to stop taking things that aren’t yours, and apologize to your classmates and the librarian.”

Barry nodded.

* * *

After his parents had spoken to him about it, and as he got older he came to understand that stealing was wrong…”No matter what,” his Mom had told him.

So he stopped.

Well, as much as he _could_ stop. If somebody left their pen on the desk in the library, and it was still there the next day he’d still swipe it. But he stopped. Because stealing was wrong, even if he really, really, really wanted to take Tony Woodward’s fancy marble collection. It was still wrong.

Then his mom died and his father was sent away for her murder.

Who cared what he stole? His mom was dead, and according to all the cops, his father was no good. Even if he _knew_ that his father was innocent.

His family was middle-class, he never went without food, and when Detective West took him in they always provided whatever he needed. There was no reason for him to steal, no reason at all.

But Tony Woodward definitely didn’t deserve to have a wallet. Not after he harassed Iris.

And he’d donate the funds to the local library, because he’d stolen enough from them in the past and he kinda felt bad about it.

But going into rich neighborhoods and swiping wallets, necklaces, rings, and trinkets… He had no real excuse for that. He would reason nobody would miss it, they were all millionaires a few blocks over.

He didn’t even keep most of his stash, but sometimes he would pawn a few fancy necklaces off so he could get a nice present for Iris and Joe, or add some money to his dad’s account so he can get stuff from the commissary.

Sometimes he would take the little shoe box from underneath his bed and just hold it in his hands, feel it's weight and open it up. He'd stare at all the trinkets and shiny bits that reflected light in the prettiest of ways... As much as stealing wallets had it's appeal, he'd always preferred jewelry.

And stealing, it made him _feel_ better. Ever since Barry’s mom died there was a part of him that felt missing, a hole that just grew and needed to be fed…Stealing made him feel better, gave him a thrill. Pick-pocketing was his form of therapy. 

He’d sometimes feel bad after a while, and some days he’d cry into his pillow, wallowing in guilt over the random wallets he’d stolen (And he’d stop taking jewelry...Despite how much he loved gold and gems, after he realized some of it held a personal connection, and wow, was that a whole new wave of guilt for him)…but then he’d start the cycle all over again to make himself feel better.

It wasn’t healthy. Of course it wasn't healthy. Just like how everyone had their bad habits. 

“Hey, Bear,” Joe called him over. It was in his ‘I need to talk to you about something important’ voice. He was thirteen, two years in their home and he knew every one of Joe’s voices by now. “Can you come over here for a minute?”

“Sure, Joe," He walked into the kitchen and saw Joe silently sitting at the dining room table, his hands were clasped and he had a furrow in his brow. Joe was staring intently...right at the box.

Barry thought his heart had stopped for a brief moment when he saw the box. The shoe box. That was under his bed…Well not under his bed anymore. 

“Son, I want you to explain this to me,” Joe said it slowly, like he was testing the words. Like he had a lot more to say, but held himself back from letting on more. He was a detective after-all, in an interrogation you don't play your hand at the beginning.

And Barry might be real good at stealing, but he’d always been shit at lying, “Uhhh, I don’t know what you mean,” A blush crept up his cheeks, and he put a stray hand on the back of his neck. “A shoe box?”

“A shoe box filled with wallets, Barry,” Joe finally tore his eyes away from the box and looking at Barry, frowned at him. But he didn't look angry. Why wasn’t he angry? Screaming? Yelling? Throwing him in juvie?

“Joe…I don’t- I-”

“I recognize some of the IDs…Tony Woodward, Mary Clyde, John Martin, Winston Camargo…”

_You’ve got one hell of a memory, Joe._ Barry could barely hold back from sniping. 

“A lot of them bullies, so I’m not inclined to bring you in. But I want to know…Why? Do you want to punish them? And not all of these are kids from your school, Barry.”

He had let the wallets pile up for a while, usually he would just take the money out, and return it back into the person’s coat pocket but he’d gotten lazy. He had to step up his game.

“I’m sorry,” He frowned. The guilt came up again. “I just- I- I just want to.”

“You want to?” Joe looked concerned now. Damn him. Barry would almost be more satisfied with anger, at least then he could come back with his own righteous indignation. 

“I _need_ to do it, or I feel like I’m gonna explode.”

That conversation had led to more therapy…And a pretty little term to tie him up in a bow: kleptomania. Really, it just made him angry, because if he wasn’t privileged enough to be caught by his Detective foster-father, and have good grades…Wouldn’t they have just called him a thief?

* * *

Barry stopped stealing for a few years after that, he would still occasional get the itch in his fingers, and he’d ‘relapse’ as his therapist liked to say. He stopped swiping from rich neighborhoods, but didn’t stop stealing from his and Iris’s bullies.

Really his worst ‘relapse’ had come when he was 16 and his dad had been involved in a prison riot. Barry went to his usual rich neighborhood and started pick-pocketing. He blended in nicely, a scrawny nerdy teenager didn’t attract much attention... He hadn’t reached his growth spurt yet (a late bloomer) so he had the advantage of being short, too.

He quickly made his way through the crowd and did his usual swipe, he would reach into people's pockets and deftly pull out their wallet- or zip a handbag and take it out. If he was fast enough, and tailed his target long enough, he could make do with just taking out the bills and then slipping their wallet straight back into their pockets.

He'd spotted someone ahead, a man dressed in a crisp suit, he wore a trench-coat...Barry fell into step behind him, he looked rich enough, but Barry didn't recognize the guy. He had a closely shaved head, looked straight ahead. Didn't look that old-  Maybe early 30s. Barry stepped a little faster, he waited until they were at a stop-light and then took his chance.

But the man's hand gripped his wrist, “Don’t get greedy, kid.” 

He looked up to see the bluest eyes he had _ever_ seen, “Uh, sorry, sir.” He stammered out and recoiled from the man’s pocket like he’d been burned.

“You’re not too bad, kid, but take it from a long-time thief…” This guy talked super slow, Barry mused. He was also immensely handsome. “…When your pockets look like they’re full, it’s time to stop.”

Barry glanced at his jacket, the big one, with a lot of pockets he’d reserved for occasions like this. The guy was right. He looked liked he was just about to go to a movie theater with a ton of smuggled candy. 

Then he glanced back at his wrist, “Are you gonna let go of me now?”

The man let go and smirked, “Happy hunting.” Then he walked away.

Barry’s heart was pounding, and he stopped for the night.

* * *

Years later, as he transitioned from the Blur, to the Streak, to the Scarlet Speedster- to the _Flash_.

He still had grabby little fingers.

“Really?” Caitlin scolded him as he walked into the labs with a wallet. “Again?”

“The meta was harassing little girls, and you care about his wallet?” Barry rifled through it, there were two folded twenties, an ID, a condom. “I don’t think he’ll miss it much anyway,” Barry said as he set it down. “There’s nothing fun in there.”

He usually kept his habits from the team, he knew they wouldn’t approve- but Caitlin had read his file, his _entire_ file. It just so happened his shrink as a fifteen-year-old just _loved_ to write about his kleptomania, and anxiety, and his mother’s death… all on his general health chart. He should sue.

Really, he thought that Caitlin having access to the file was an invasion of privacy (but it also meant he could let her in on the secret, just a tiny bit.)

They’d also been through a lot together… The Reverse-Flash, Grodd, Zoom… A whole slew of evil-metas. He only started swiping criminal’s wallets within the last few months or so. He was also hurting. He lost his father, things weren’t good, he _needed_ something to decompress. As long as it didn't devolve, he didn't see the harm.

Cisco didn’t know the depth of his habit, “You’ve got to keep doing that man, it’s _hilarious_. Especially when they start yelling in the middle of the station ‘where’s my wallet?’ ‘the Flash took my wallet!’” Cisco chuckled as he tinkered with some gadget. “God, and all the cops are like ‘the Flash is good, he doesn’t take people’s wallets.’”

It didn’t exactly go down _that_ way. Though it had happened once that someone he brought in complained that the Flash was thief, right after he had caught him from a bank robbery… Really. The cops brushed the criminal off, so he doesn’t think he has much to worry about.

It’s then that an alert goes off.

“Oh hey, Cold is at it again,” Cisco pipes up. “His gun went off at…” Cisco typed. “Some rich guy’s antique collection, a warehouse, the alarms haven’t gone off. No guards. Probably no collateral.”

That was Cisco’s way of saying ‘you tired for the night and just want to let this one go?’ After the whole bomb-in-Lisa’s-head fiasco with Lewis Snart, none of the team was all that scared of Cold anymore. His heists were also few and far in between, nobody died anymore.

Even more so after Snart was out of prison and warned him about Weather Wizard and the Trickster. For once, Barry wasnt the only one who could see the good in Leonard Snart- his team had a glimpse, as well.

Recently, he usually had some meta with him…Sometimes Baez, Bivolo, Nimbus… even Hartley. All of them using their powers, but in a non-lethal way. Other times he’d be doing the heist alone. Apparently his Rogues had been garnering quite the territory- but overall they weren’t that much of a problem. If anything, their territory made the neighborhood safer. They kept the really bad people out.

In short: they were fun. A challenge he didn’t have to worry about- and Barry wanted a little fun.

“I’m still up for something tonight,” Barry said. “Show me the address.”

He went to the antique collector’s warehouse. The security system was frozen solid, must be why the alarms didn’t go off. 

He sped through the warehouse, but didn’t see any Rogues around.

“Uh, Cisco…” He said through the comms. “I think they might already be gone with whatever they wanted.”

_“That would be unnaturally fast. Even for them. Any chance it’s a trap?”_

“I don’t know,” Barry wandered around the warehouse at normal speed. Looking around at all the items. A lot of pretty, shiny things, some pieces of art. “Do we know what they were targeting?” Barry really liked the way the necklace in the corner of the warehouse looked. It was gathering dust, made of gold, probably several thousand dollars and covered in gems. 

_“No idea. I guess we’ll find out what’s gone after the rich guy checks on his collection.”_

Barry really, really, liked the way the necklace looked, “Any security cameras we can check?”

_“Nah… warehouse is completely devoid of cameras. Well, if there’s no one to fight, then just head back. We can tell the collector about the possibility of a heist in the morning.”_

“I’ll just- I’m gonna head home, okay?” Barry said, still staring at the necklace. It was covered in rubies. Barry loved that shade of red.

_“Sure man,”_ Cisco answered.

Barry turned off the comms.

He had no idea what Cold stole, it could be anything. Could be a lot of things. There were no cameras…the rich guy didn’t seem to care much about his collection anyway- all this stuff looked like it hadn't been touched in ages.

Barry reached out, and hovered his hand over it… who would miss it? Really? Wouldn’t it just be better if he just sold it…and donated the proceeds?

He picked it up.

He picked up a discarded bag…and put it in there.

Then he picked up the necklace next to the necklace he just took.

Then he added a couple of earrings, and loose gems, just because.

He was about to add an antique vase when a hand gripped his wrist, “Don’t get greedy, kid.”

Shit.

Barry looked up at the bluest eyes he had _ever_ seen…very familiar eyes, “Fuck.”

“Are you offering?” Snart raised an eyebrow and let go of his wrist. “I have to admit, I didn’t believe it when my contacts started telling me the Flash was swiping wallets… then again, there was a distant memory and I never forget a face.”

“I don’t uh-” He dropped the bag. “I’m not. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” _Fuck_.

“I’m not gonna rat you, Scarlet.” Snart prowled around him. He acted like a predatory cat stalking it’s prey. “In fact, I think it’s a little appealing that Central City’s hero is just a petty thief.”

“You…you set this up?”

“I know you can’t resist a good heist,” Snart explained. “Figured I’d see if you wanted to be on the other end of it. The _real_ expensive stuff are the paintings…I’m probably going to take a few.”

“You want me to be an accomplice to your heist?” Barry asked incredulously.

“I’m actually asking if I can be an accomplice to _your_ heist,” Cold said as he gestured to the forgotten bag. “I see you like the shiny stuff. Just like my sister.”

“Are any of your other Rogues here?” Barry surprised himself by actually considering this.

Snart looks equally surprised for a moment, before a cool expression (ugh, he didn’t even mean to do that) overcame his face, “Of course not.”

“I _did_ like the abstract painting on the way in," Barry let himself admit.

Snart's smirk grew wide, and Barry knew he was done for.


End file.
